


Lace

by rudbeckia



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Light Dom/sub, Lingerie, M/M, Masturbation, Webcam/Video Chat Sex, benarmie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:48:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23985559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rudbeckia/pseuds/rudbeckia
Summary: At Phasma’s Laundromat, Ben accidentally ruins Armie’s favourite underwear and turns his own wash pink in the process. Phasma intimidates them into going shopping for a replacement for Armie.Impressed by Ben’s generosity, Armie sends Ben a gift too. It’s sleek, black, controlled over wifi and very pleasurable.(extended twitfic)
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Ben Solo, Armitage Hux/Kylo Ren
Comments: 11
Kudos: 70





	Lace

“Hi,” Ben says, thumping his laundry bag on top of the machine beside the hot redhead who always takes the two machines at the end of the row.  
“Good morning,” the redhead says without looking up. Ben watches him sort the contents of a large rucksack into two loads. All the whites go in the further machine and there is a sachet of _HyperBrite! Gets your whites so bright it’ll make your eyes water!_ ready to go in with the detergent. All the darker colours are piled on top of the nearer machine, almost spilling off, ignored while the redhead attends to his whites. Ben upends the contents of his bag into his machine and retrieves a few items that tumble to the floor, then shakes in a sleek, charcoal and crimson coloured pack of _Lumberjack Power Liquid - Laundry For Men!_.  
“Don’t you every sort your laundry?” the redhead asks.  
“No need,” Ben replies. “It’s all the same. I’m not falling for marketing hype designed to make me buy more detergent.”  
“Well,” the redhead says, turning on the first machine and scooping the rest of his laundry into the second one and waving a pale pink pack of _Be Gentle With Me! Soft as silk treatment all your delicates_ in front of Ben. “Some fabrics won’t stand for it.”

They start the wash programmes and buy coffee pods from Phasma to use in the machine in the little waiting area. It’s early and, as usual, they are the first customers at Phasma’s Laundromat. Phasma tells them to fetch her if more customers arrive then leaves them alone.  
“So,” Ben says, slouching in a plastic chair that bends and barely contains him. “I see you here every week and I don’t know your name. I’m Ben.”  
“Armie,” says the redhead.  
From the back room, Phasma listens to their stilted, stop-start conversation and shakes her head.

The machines all click off within a few minutes of each other and both Ben and Armie get up to empty them. Armie bags a basket, checking that it is clean, and uses it to transfer his whites into a dryer. Ben pulls his things out a few at a time and drops them onto the top of the spare machine next to him. Armie turns to see Ben, face aghast, holding up a teeshirt that might once have been washed-with-jeans off-white, but was now very _very_ pink.  
“How?” Ben asks, barely able to pronounce the word.  
“Easy,” Armie replies. “You didn’t sort your stuff out. You must have something red in your laundry this week.”  
“But I don’t own any red clothes,” Ben says. “I only ever buy white, black and grey.”

Ben shakes out all his clothes, one item at a time. Then le looks into the drum of the machine he’d used and reaches inside. His arm emerges with a scrap of red fabric pinched between his fingers.  
“This,” he says, “is not mine. PHASMA?”  
Phasma comes through from the back room, eyebrows up.  
“This must have been left in my machine before I put my stuff in. It ruined my clothes. Look!”  
Phasma shakes her head. “No,” she says. “I check the machines every night before I lock up. They were all empty. Whatever that garment used to be went in with your clothes when you loaded it up.”  
“But—”  
“BEN, YOU FUCKING ARSE!” 

Ben’s complaint is obliterated by Armie’s wail. Armie is holding up a red lacy crop top and pointing at the misshapen fabric in Ben’s hand. “You put MY favourite shorts in YOUR wash and RUINED THEM!”  
“YOU must have put them in my pile!” Ben retorts.  
Armie shakes his head. “No. You think I would get my expensive lingerie mixed up with your... your generic brand, three-pack, shapeless vests?”  
“Hey! These are _designer_ ,” Ben says, but he knows Armie is right.

“ALL RIGHT!” Phasma hollers before a fight breaks out. She looks at Ben. “For the sake of keeping the peace, I will do your wash for you again with some colour-run bleach to take the pink stain out.” Then she turns to Armie. “And I will look after your drying for you while Ben here takes you out to get a replacement for the ruined item. Deal?” Phasma glares from Ben to Armie and back again. When neither of them replies, she adds, “Imagine the shame of being banned from your local laundromat.”  
Ben and Armie glare at each other but agree. Phasma nods, claps them both on the shoulder and tells them to pick up their laundry later. 

Outside the laundromat, Ben looks at Armie, purses his lips, and says, “So where do we go? I thought that kind of specialist stuff was only available online.”  
“Specialist?” Armie frowns. “Just because it’s nice that doesn’t make it _specialist._ Men can have nice lingerie too. There’s a place in the city centre.” Armie looks at Ben morosely. “It’s not cheap.”  
“Do I look like I can’t afford to buy you anything?” Ben asks, affronted. Armie just shrugs. Ben watches him for a moment. Armie won’t look at him, he’s blinking rapidly and his cheeks are pink. Ben sighs. “Look, I’m sorry about your underwear. I suppose I do look scruffy on laundry day. I promise I will get you new lingerie, okay? Just show me what you like.”  
Armie sniffs once and rubs his face, then sets off after Ben to catch the bus into the city centre.

The store Armie takes Ben into is the biggest department store in the city. He heads straight for the escalators, winding up and around and up and around, past womenswear and children and toys and menswear until they are on the top floor, sectioned off into boutique concessions. Ben’s tempted to linger by the fancy stationery store but Armie doesn’t deviate from his path and soon they are standing amongst racks of delicate, frothy lace in all the colours Ben could imagine and several fabrics he did not know existed until now. Ben is overwhelmed partly by the dizzying array of items, partly by the realisation that this stuff exists outside of the internet, but mostly from the internally generated image of a hot, grumpy redhead wearing _this_ or _that_ or _ooh yes that one for sure._ Armie doesn’t help Ben’s distress by picking out piece after glorious piece, waving them in front of his face and asking his opinion. Ben just holds them all, feeling the smooth, soft fabrics and revelling in the slight texture of the sheer lace.

“Hi, perhaps I can help? Are you looking for something in particular?”  
A man is smiling at them nearby. He’s wearing a grey suit with a white shirt and a name badge: _Dopheld Mitaka, Manager._ There’s the slightest contrast of ink-black lace against pale skin shining through the thin poly-cotton of the uniform. Ben silently hands over everything that Armie has picked out. Dopheld lays out all the pieces on the counter in matching sets, adding accessories that Armie has missed. “It’s difficult to make a decision seeing them under the shop lights and all flat like that,” he says to Armie. “Perhaps you would like to model them for your husband?”  
Ben almost swallows his own tongue. “We’re not married,” Armie snaps. “We’re not even going out. He’s just some bloke who ruined my favourite shorts.”

It takes both Ben and Armie a few seconds to run that statement back through their brains and hear how it sounds. “Well,” Dopheld says when he gets over his surprise. “It’s very good of the gentleman to offer to buy you a new set.”  
“It’s not like that!” Armie wails, cheeks turning pink again.  
Ben sniggers. “You were worth every penny, sweetheart,” he says. Armie gapes at him and goes even redder.  
“Would you like to choose which set?” Dopheld says. “Or,” he adds hopefully, “perhaps two? Since he’s,” he looks at Ben and winks. “Worth every penny.”  
Armie turns to yell at Ben and slaps him hard on the upper arm. Armie’s so incandescent that he barely feels the sting in his hand. Ben catches Armie’s wrist before he can deliver another loud slap. “I wish you’d said you were into this kind of thing last night,” he says. “Would’ve paid extra for a good spanking.”

Speechless, Armie glares at Ben, shakes off his grip, then he turns and marches away. Ben turns back to Dopheld. “I’ll take the deep red and the peacock,” he says. “I hope you know his size.”  
“Anything for yourself, sir?” Dopheld asks, as he finishes wrapping the delicate lace.  
“Oh I don’t wear anything like that,” he replies.  
“You’ve never worn lingerie?” says Dopheld, hoping to increase the sale further. “I could show you—”  
“No, I mean underwear,” Ben says with a grin.

When Ben gets back to Phasma’s laundromat, Armie has already picked up his stuff & gone. Phasma won’t give him Armie’s address or number so Ben has to leave Armie’s new lingerie with her. He gives Phasma his details and a message, and says to pass it on as soon as Armie has stopped wanting to kill him. Ben goes to the laundromat again a week later but Armie isn’t there. Phasma promises she gave Armie the gift box & message earlier that day when he came in to drop off a service wash. Ben buys a pack of beach because his whites are still pink, although a pale marshmallow rather than deep fuchsia. He doesn’t linger. It’s not the same without Armie to flirt with.

When he gets home there’s a package waiting for him. Plain wrapper, no stamp or frank mark so Ben concludes that it was hand delivered. He opens it and stares at the contents. 

It’s a tastefully sleek and black, expensive looking remote control toy set with a cock ring & butt plug, charging stand, storage case, lube and sanitiser spray.

There’s a note from Armie.  
“Thank you for the gorgeous lingerie. Wear this, download the app, put in this code then text me:”

He reads the code, one eyebrow rising. He downloads the app, enters the code when prompted, then saves and texts the number written at the bottom of the page.  
*Hi it’s Ben. Done it.  
A few seconds later, he has a reply:  
**prove it. Photo.  
Damn. 

He looks at the toy still in its box. His phone chimes again.  
**I’ll wear your gift if you wear mine  
There’s a photo with this message. It’s a teasing hint of turquoise lace and pale, pale skin with a glimpse of red hair.

Ben picks up the toy and the fancy lube it came with. It takes him a while to get a photo that isn’t Too Much. A few seconds after he sends it, a gentle pulsing vibration starts up and he almost drops his phone in surprise.

It’s pleasurable, once he gets over the alarm. He just gets used to it, wonders how to make it speed up, when it stops.

His phone chimes again.  
**Send me another photo if you’re into it

He sends a photo, caring a lot less for the aesthetics this time.

Another photo arrives just as the pleasurable buzzing starts up again. This time, there’s a slender hand cupping the front of the lace and a definite bulge straining the fabric. Just as Ben’s thinking of touching himself, the buzzing gets faster and harder.

He shifts and it stops.  
His iPad and phone both chime.  
It’s a video call.

Just in case, he angles his iPad so that only his face and shoulders will be visible, and taps accept. He gets a beautiful view of the very tip of Armie’s cock peeking out of the waist of the panties. “I’m not calling because I missed your face,” Armie’s voice says.

Ben grins. “I thought you were a prude,” he says. “The way you acted all embarrassed in the store.”  
“No,” Armie replies as Ben adjusts the angle and reclines on his sofa. “I’m private, not prudish. Now. I’m watching you. Don’t touch yourself.”  
“Okay,” Ben replies. “you want me to just lie here?”  
“Yes. If it’s too much, tell me.”

After another few minutes of gentle buzzing whilst watching Armie’s hand ease his cock and balls out of the turquoise lace panties Ben feels like it is not enough. He grips the sofa cushions hard to stop himself from touching his own erection. He fails. As soon as his hand clasps around his cock the vibration stops.

“What did I tell you?” Armie’s stern voice chides.  
“Not to touch,” Ben says.  
“Put your hands behind your head.”

Ben does as he is told and the toy starts up again. It’s gloriously, maddeningly slow. He can hear Armie’s little sounds of pleasure while he watches on his screen as Armie stroke his cock with one hand and tease his balls with the other. He shifts a little to increase the sensation of the plug inside him and gasps about how close he is, babbles and begs to be allowed to finish this.

He sees Armie’s cock twitch and spill and imagines he’s there, that it’s his hand bringing Armie off. It’s more than he can stand. Ben clasps his cock and strokes himself until he spatters his own chest as he comes hard.

The toy goes still and quiet. “I didn’t say you could touch,” Armie’s voice drifts from the phone. “But I suppose I will forgive you just this once.”

The screen view shifts dizzyingly and settles on Armie’s face. He’s pink, eyes half-closed, and smiling. He’s gorgeous. Ben realises by the way Armie’s staring that he still has the camera angled at his cock. He sits up and moves his iPad so that his face appears too, red, with his hair messed up from having tousled it, trying to keep his hands off himself. He thinks he might have drooled a bit.

“That was...” Ben can’t find the word so he settles for ”...unexpected.”  
“But you had fun? I did.” Armitage smiles.  
“Fuck, yes,” Ben replies. A thought strikes him and he says, “Wait, you said you’d forgive me _just this once_. What does that mean?”  
“Oh? I should think that obvious,” Armie says. “I’m going to want you to wear my gift to you again.“  
Ben laughs and tells Armie he’ll wear it any time Armie asks him to on condition Armie wears pretty panties again.

The call ends. Ben cleans up. As he’s deciding where to keep his new toy, the doorbell rings.  
Armie stands in the hallway. He holds out another package.

“Turns out I live two floors up and just inside wifi range,” he says. “I had these and haven’t found anyone I want to use them on yet until now.”  
Ben takes the package and steps back to let Armie inside. He opens the package while Armie watches, a hungry look on his face. “Handcuffs?” Ben says, face going red again.  
“Yes,” Armie replies. “Want me to show you how to use them?”


End file.
